"He ain't the only one, though maybe he's the worst. And Blake's killed outright; two or three more, I believe; some with pretty bad pistol-shot wounds. Tell you they made warm work for us. There's been a traitor among us; betrayed our plans and put 'em on their guard." He concluded with a torrent of oaths and fearful imprecations upon the traitor, whoever he might be. "Hist!" cried the one Boyd had addressed as Bill, "hist boys! the bugle call! they're on us. Stop your noise, Boyd, can't you!" as the latter, seized, and borne onward again, not too gently, yelled and roared with redoubled vigor: "Be quiet or you'll have 'em after us in no time." "Shoot me through the head then: it's the only thing that'll help me to stop it." Mr. Lilburn, keeping well in the shadow of the trees, had hurried after the retreating foe, and concealing himself behind a clump of bushes close to the gate, caused his bugle note to sound in their ears as if coming from a point some half a mile distant. Convinced that a detachment of United States troops were almost upon them, those carrying the dead and wounded dashed into the wood with their burdens, while in hot haste the others mounted and away, never drawing rein until they had put several miles between them and the scene of their attempted outrage. Meantime those in the wood, moving as rapidly as possible under the circumstances, were plunging deeper and deeper into its recesses. There was an occasional groan or half suppressed shriek from others of the wounded, but Boyd's cries were incessant and heart-rending, till a handkerchief was suddenly thrust into his mouth with a muttered exclamation, "Necessity knows no law! it's to save your own life and liberty as well as ours." At length, well nigh spent with their exertions, the bearers paused, resting their burdens for a moment upon the ground, while they listened intently for the sounds of pursuit. "We've baffled 'em, I think," panted Bill, "I don't hear no more of that--tramp, tramp, and the bugle's stopped too." "That's so and I reckon we're pretty safe now," returned another voice. "But what's to be done with these fellows? where'll we take 'em?" "To Rood's still-house," was the answer. "It's about half a mile further on, and deep in the woods. And I say you, Tom Arnold, pull off your disguise and go after Dr. Savage as fast as you can. Tell him to come to the still-house on the fleetest horse he can get hold of; and bring along everything necessary to dress scalds and pistol-shot wounds. Say there's no time to lose or Boyd'll die on our hands. Now up with your load, boys, and on again." The voice had a tone of command and the orders were instantly obeyed. The still-house was an old, dilapidated frame building, whose rude accommodations differed widely from those to which, save during his army life, Boyd had been accustomed from infancy.